


Linear

by jenetic



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Deaf Dean Winchester, Gen, M/M, Sucks for you, another coffee shop AU, bad descriptions of sign language, if you know nothing about deaf culture you might be confused, puns, they don't even kiss in this so don't get your hopes up, this is so self indulgent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-09
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-10-16 16:18:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10574958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenetic/pseuds/jenetic
Summary: Nothing moves in a straight line. Dean has to remind himself of this fact often after he loses his hearing.





	

_Nothing moves in a straight line_. Dean has to remind himself of this fact often after he loses his hearing.  
  


It’s nothing spectacular, nothing unheard of, but nothing he expected to actually happen to him. A carburetor exploded in his face when Aaron turned the ignition; barely a fraction of a second, could’ve done a lot more damage, but his head felt like it was buzzing for a couple of minutes. Didn’t know the guy was talking to him until he pulled himself away from the guts of the car, and then it was just frantic gestures and moving lips. That’s how it’s been ever since, too. His ear drums are busted, that’s all he can remember. Something about a mechanical injury in the cochlea, but he doesn’t know what that means. Doesn’t know how to pronounce it. He’s never heard it, and he never will.  
  


It’s different to be born with sound and lose it than it is to never have it, he learns. The girl that teaches him some basic sign language - Eileen - lets him know that in a text on one particularly bad night. She could never hear. He thinks he’s lucky for a while, because at least he got to know what the voices of his friends sounded like and the noise that a busted engine block makes, sputtering, and how kids outside all shout and run when they hear the familiar jingle of an ice cream truck. He remembers what that stuff felt like in his mind. She disagrees. Tells him it’s his right to be upset about it, because she has nothing to miss. Eileen’s never heard anything and she’s done fine without it, but now Dean’s gonna have to learn to live without Zeppelin. But things never move in a straight line.  
  


This theme continues when Bobby claps a hand on his shoulder like a death sentence one day, and he’s wildly unsurprised by the whole event. Feels as numb as his temporal lobes when a pink slip is put into his hand gently, along with a too-good-to-be-true “Christmas bonus.” _It’s April_. He wants to scream for a brief moment until he realizes it won’t be satisfying if his agony isn’t bounced off the walls like good acoustics and put back into his ears. No, he stays pretty quiet. Has been quiet. His life used to be laid out with some sort of clarity, had a loose sense of direction to it after an overlapping and ever-winding childhood. Getting fired put a bit of a wrench in that.  
  


And fuck it. Dean doesn’t get a new job until September. His apartment was a gross little shoebox anyway, so he loses no pride over sleeping in Benny’s spare room. They’ve been friends since high school, anyhow. He figures being deaf is a good excuse to call in a favor from a buddy.  
  


Turns out - Dean discovers - aprons are not his thing. The problem never arose before he got hired at a coffee shop and had to wrap one of the ugly things around his waist every day. He feels okay about it for a second, ‘cause it’s a nice maroon colour and at least he doesn’t have one that covers his chest like the redhead he shares a shift with does. But hers is emblazoned with the store’s logo and _Java The Hutt_ , which makes Dean crinkle his nose in sheer disappointment of the pun, and Charlie claims she had made it up herself. LucasFilms probably isn’t gonna sue them for copyright infringement, though, so when Charlie comes in a few days later with a nametag for him that says “ _hi, I’m Dean Skywalker!_ ” he smiles a little. She laughs with her whole body, delicate shoulders shaking and he can’t hear it, but the sight alone reassures him that it’s not all bad.  
  


What _is_ kinda bad, though, are night shifts. Charlie only works in the early mornings and some afternoons, but they’re few and far between. The girl he’s got to count on at night isn’t as playful, but she’s nice enough. Hannah is small, looks kinda like Zooey DeSchanel with harder edges, and never smiles with her teeth. But apparently she’s the one that had the light installed for Dean, so _he_ bares _his_ teeth whenever she’s around. Her eyes do the grinning for her.  
  


The light is helpful in a way that gives him a bit of power back. For the first week or so, whenever Charlie would go to the back or take a lunch break or leave him alone in general, customers got a little pissy. Would wave their arms at him and shout, ring the bell; one even did so much as to lean over the display case of bakery treats to tap his shoulder. They feel a little bad when they realize he actually can’t hear a damn thing, and sometimes a patron’s ears’ll start burning. Dean figures it’s because they were probably grumbling something along the lines of “ _are you deaf_?” Now, though, every time someone walks in the door it’s hooked up to a light on the wall, right above all the menu boards. It’ll flash a couple times and Dean’s damn thankful he’s not epileptic on top of all of this, but he can turn around fast and take an order if he needs to. He’s gotten pretty good at reading lips and following vague pointing fingers.  
  


It’s five minutes to closing on a random ass Thursday when someone new walks in. Dean’s counting money so he doesn’t need to rely on the light, but he can still see it blinking out of the corner of his eye. The man notices, too, but he doesn’t do much more than squint at the thing for a second before lazily making his way to the counter. He walks like he’s daydreaming, gaze drifting from place to place before it skirts away furtively, and when he finally makes it in front of the register he orders an Americano. Dean lifts an eyebrow.  
  


“Looks like you could do without watering it down, pal.”  
  


The man looks surprised that Dean can speak, which is even more confusing. He’s the weirdo in this situation, thank you very much. Rumpled hair and a God damn trench coat; what is he, a beat reporter? He tries again, then, asks for a straight up espresso this time and Dean stands there waiting for a full forty-five seconds before the stranger offers up his name. The movement of his mouth is only a little slower, ‘cause apparently he knows Dean’s deafer than a rock, but it’s still unintelligible. He’s unsure if the guy is starting with a _G_ or a _C_ and the rest of his name is no fucking help, so he’s stuck somewhere between _Gasteel_ and _Cattle._  
  


Suddenly the man’s hands move. Fumbling, but he’s doing it. Half circle - _C_ . One lightly closed fist - _A_ . Then his thumb carefully slides over his middle and index finger - _S_ . _Cas_ . Dean was close enough. He dumbfoundedly writes the (clearly) abbreviated name on a cup and gets to making the stupid coffee, because that fiasco lasted quite some time and he was supposed to have these machines clean by now. Hannah’s in the back packaging pastries, though, so he figures he’s okay. As the dark brew drips soundlessly into the paper cup, Dean watches tiredly, lip twitching when he realizes he fucked up the straight lines of Cas’ _A_. Fitting.  
  


He hands the drink to Cas, who is now officially here past closing time, and damn near smacks himself in the face afterwards. Forgot to tell the guy his total, forgot to get any money at all, what the Hell kind of idiot can’t even be a decent cashier? Cas, to his credit, has a hand fisted around exact change. Somehow. Dean can’t complain. The now-empty palm retracts and immediately makes its way up, and Cas presses his fingertips abruptly to his own chin before pulling them away in a small downward arch. _Thank you_. A smile more genuine than Dean’s ever felt on his own face busts across his mouth without preamble, because that was about the cutest God damn thing he’s seen since working here, and when Cas smiles back he doesn’t show his teeth but his freakishly blue eyes are doing the same thing that…  
  


“Castiel!” It’s probably loud by the way Cas flinches, but he nods, and Dean feels like a fucking idiot. “You’re Hannah’s brother, that makes a Helluva lot more sense than… Hi. I’m --”  
  


“Dean Skywalker?”  
  


This time, he does show his teeth, and his grin is so big and gummy it makes Dean wonder what Hannah looks like when she does that. Makes him wonder how happy this guy truly is at the moment, ‘cause he’s sure it’s not because of his geeky nametag. He’s staring, so Cas keeps talking.  
  


“My sister told me about you, I’m sorry if I startled you. My signing is a little rusty. I learned from the old woman who sold me her car.” Dean cranes his neck to see an ugly-ass Lincoln Continental badly parallel parked outside. Castiel’s hands start moving again, drawing his squinting eyes away from the monstrosity. “It’s nice to meet you,” with both ASL and words.  
  


The way Cas’ palms slide together on the first word is straight and mechanical, like he’s practiced making a perfect line for hours. Days. Like his sister’s co-worker is the single most important thing that he’s come across in ages. Dean huffs a little laugh and starts to feel like his life is becoming linear again.  
  


“Yeah, man. You too.”  
  


Hannah comes back and scolds him as much as she’s capable to, tells him he shouldn’t be distracted even as she’s the one cleaning the machines. All Dean has to do is turn his back and suddenly he doesn’t know what she’s saying anymore. She finds it less funny than the two boys do. He finishes counting the money in the register and closes it up, writes his phone number on a napkin to give to Cas and smiles a bit wider when the man’s face goes from controlled shock to slight embarrassment.  
  


“Just don’t call, I won’t pick up,” he jokes, waving to the siblings as they exit together.  Then Hannah’s showing her teeth, too, and the night shift suddenly isn’t so bad.

**Author's Note:**

> I know I haven't posted in over a year but I'm back and better than ever with some disability representation. I wrote this in November. You're welcome.


End file.
